


Taking Care of You Is My Job

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Caring Sam Winchester, Fever, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 07:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: Dean is sick, Sam takes care of him.





	Taking Care of You Is My Job

**Author's Note:**

> Just felt like writing a bit of sick Dean *shrugs*

A painful twinge in his stomach wakes Dean. He rolls over to squint at the clock on his desk and groans. The bright red digits read 1:15. He went to bed around midnight so this couldn’t be a regular bathroom break-- Looks like he is in for a long night… 

As he swings his feet to the floor, he winces at the dull ache in his gut. Yawning, he rubs his belly before pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few minutes, Dean rolls his shoulders-- he shivers in the cool air.

Winter just set in about a week ago and outside there is a dusting of snow surrounding the bunker.

Dean's shoulders are still sore after coating the long drive with salt and fighting with the ancient heater most of the afternoon.. 

With a pained grimace, he stands and makes his way to the door. It is eerie-- the entire complex is silent except for his brother’s soft snore coming from across the hall.

Another cramp rolls through Dean's abdomen and he hunches over. gritted his teeth and prayed to Chuck that Sam would stay asleep. His little brother had been struggling this past week, torn apart by guilt from a case that hadn’t turned out well. A little girl had died and Sam blamed himself for not getting to her in time. 

The bathroom felt colder than the hallway and Dean’s teeth chattered as he walked over to the sink. Sweat drips down his neck and when he glanced in the mirror, he found the neckline and underarms of his long-sleeved tee-shirt drenched. He fumbled with the latch on the cabinet and pulled out the bright pink bottle. He wasn’t looking forward to the chalky taste but he hoped he could avoid the main event if he took it now. 

As soon as the thick pink sludge touched his lips, his stomach clenched and he had to set it on the counter so he could grip the edge of the sink as he fought his body’s desire to purge. Warm saliva flooded his mouth and he stumbled over to the stalls. Dean braced himself against the wall and leaned over the bowl as the first wave of milky white puke pushed past his clenched lips. He coughed hard and choked as something chunky got stuck in his throat, probably one of the vegetable chunks from the soup he’d made them for dinner. Finally, it came loose and a rush of vomit followed. He gripped the toilet seat and shuddered as his back arched and more sick came out. He stared into the bowl, breathing heavily, spitting into the mess of regurgitated potato soup. 

When his stomach calmed, Dean grab a handful of toilet paper and blew his nose, then flushed and gingerly made his way back to the sink. He didn’t think he could brave brushing his teeth just yet, so he settled for rinsing the sour taste from his mouth with a handful of cool water. He rested his hand on his unsettled stomach as he walked back to his room. Thankfully, Sam was still asleep in his bed. Dean changed into a clean shirt and crawled back into bed, hoping to get some sleep before the next round. 

***

The alarm on his phone went off and Sam groaned, snagged it without moving and brought it to his face so he could see the button to shut it off. He settled onto his back and sighed into the chilly morning air. He usually got up for a run before Dean woke, but that day Sam didn’t really feel like venturing out into the wintery Kansas landscape. 

He sat up and blindly felt around for his slippers, yawned, and then donned his heavy sweatshirt before making his way down the hall and into the bathroom. He was greeted by their bottle of Pepto on the counter, the cabinet wide open, and the acrid odor of sickness. He frowned and walked over to the first stall. Dean was propped against the wall, asleep. Sam grimaced at the toilet bowl and fought his gag reflex. Unfortunately, potato soup looks rather similar whether going down or coming back up. He flushed it then squatted next to his brother. Dean’s face was ashen and he was covered in sweat. Sam sighed and placed the back of his hand on Dean’s forehead. The sick man definitely had a fever. 

Before he could take care of his big brother, Sam needed to complete the task he had come in here for in the first place. He used the next stall to piss, washed his hands. He checked on Dean once more then walked down the hall to Dean’s bedroom. The sheets on his bed were tangled and there was a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand. Sam remade the bed before turning the covers down. He fished around in the linen closet and laid a warm blanket on top. He made sure the trash can was double-lined and set it by the bed, then refilled the glass with fresh water. He stopped by the kitchen to put four pieces of bread in the toaster and pulled butter and strawberry jam from the fridge for his toast. 

Once everything was ready, Sam traveled back into the bathroom and gently roused his sick brother, “Dean? Hey, wake up.” 

He groaned and squinted, “Sam?” He licked his lips, his mouth had never felt so dry. 

“C’ mon, dude. Let’s get you off the floor.” 

Dean was still waking up so it was fairly easy to convince him to stand up and toss his arm across Sam’s shoulders. He kept one hand fisted in Sam’s shirt as they stumbled towards his bedroom. When they made it, Dean sat heavily onto the bed and groaned. 

Sam meanwhile, got to work removing Dean’s soiled clothes and redressing him then situating him in the bed, “Why didn’t you wake me?” 

Dean dragged a hand down his face and settled into the pillow, “Needed sleep.” 

“So do you.” Sam coaxed him to sit up and swallow the capsules he set in Dean’s palm. Dean curled his lip in disgust but obliged his little brother’s request. Once he’d forced down two bites of dry toast, Sam pulled the covers over his shivering form and left him to sleep. 

When he woke with the toast and water filling his cheeks, he scrambled to the edge of the bed and hung his head over the bin. 

“Easy… I got you.” Sam sat up in his chair and rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder. When the heaving died down, he cleaned Dean’s face and helped him rinse his mouth. Exhausted, the sick man laid back down and immediately fell asleep. Sam moved onto the bed and carded his fingers through his brother’s sweaty hair. Dean turned over so that his head rested on Sam and loosely grabbed the hem of his shirt. 

Sam smiled softly, “That’s right, Dean. I’m right here. You can rest.”


End file.
